Wedding Nerves
by ElleMe
Summary: Sherlock tries to help Mary relax the morning of the wedding the only way he knows how; Fluffy One-Shot; Meant to be cute and fun


"Sherlock," John called up the 221B stairs. Over his shoulder, his thumb was hooked into a metal hanger, on which his tuxedo hung cascading down his back. He was careful not to let it catch under his shoes as he made his way up the creaking staircase.

"Morning John," Sherlock said, suddenly emerging from the flat fully dressed in his best man's outfit. John's face immediately rounded into an expression of pleasant surprise. He had half-expected Sherlock to be waist-deep in test tubes and Bunsen burners. "You're not dressed."

"No."

"Is the wedding off?" Sherlock asked, perplexed.

John's brows furrowed. "What—no, 'course not. I was coming over here to get ready. We agreed." The confusion on Sherlock's face didn't fully dissolve, but he stepped aside any way to let his friend in. "We don't have to be at the church for another two hours, why are you ready so early."

"Mrs. Hudson kept insisting I get dressed," Sherlock admitted, folding his hands behind his back while John hung up the tuxedo. "As it turns out, doing what she says is the quickest way to shut her up."

The groom-to-be gave his friend a suspicious look. "That's why you're ready so early? Mrs. Hudson told you to do something, and you…did it?"

"Imagine that," Sherlock said neatly, to a still apprehensive John. There was quiet in the room for a bit, as Sherlock waiting for John's features to relax. "I also need to make a quick stop—"

"I knew it!" John yelled before his friend had even finished. "You are not going on a case today. No. Do it tomorrow or after the reception, but not today."

"It'll take ten minutes," Sherlock rebutted. "Fifteen if my initial conclusion is wrong which is highly unlikely, and eight if we forgo this conversation entirely."

John was still firmly shaking his head. "No. Today is my wedding day; I'm not having you go off on something you think is insignificant only to find out it's some international terrorist plot. No. Today is your day off."

Sherlock childishly tightened his jaw at the injustice. "Fine."

John waited a moment before deciding he could believe him and then gave a satisfied nod. "Alright, good. I'm going to get cleaned up." Sherlock continued to sulk as John disappeared into the bathroom. "Is Mrs. Hudson coming with us?" he heard his friend's muffled voice ask through the closed door.

"Yes—assuming she's finished assembling every strand of hair on her head by then, as she's been for the entire morning."

"Alright, you can bring her and me to the church, and then go pick up the girls."

Sherlock's head whipped back to the bathroom door. "Girls?"

"Bridesmaids," John called back. "And Mary, obviously. You're picking them up when they've finished getting their hair done and bringing them to the church."

"Does anything _not_ fall under the responsibilities of the best man?" Sherlock muttered.

"No," John called back with a smirk.

OOOOO

Sherlock knocked delicately on the door to John and Mary's flat, behind which he could hear giddy voices happily moving about the room. "Hello!" One of the lilac-clad bridesmaids cheerfully greeted pulling the door open. "You're not here to strip for us, are you?" She was immediately pulled away by the arm of the next woman to emerge from behind the door.

It was Mary. Her blonde locks were pinned up beautifully in her veil with micro-flowers poking out of the golden curls here and there. It presented a funny contrast to the whimsically polka-dotted button-down she had not changed out of yet. "Hi Sherlock, here to collect us?" she said with a big smile. She looked as though she'd been beaming all day.

"Per John's instructions I'm to take you to the church." His eyes scanned the bride's blouse once more. "There's a bridal suite there where you can finish getting ready.

She nodded, smile unwavering. "Yes, I know. We'll be out in a minute. Come in." Sherlock tried to protest, feeling he'd be much happier waiting on the step, but she pulled him over the threshold too quickly. "Sherlock, this is Sue and Carla. Behave, ladies." And with that Mary popped back into the bathroom for some final touch-ups.

"So, Mr. Holmes," Carla began, not at all attempting to hide her interest in the man before her, "We've heard a lot about you. You've got a party trick, yeah?"

"Is that what the tabloids are reducing it to?" he responded, a bit insulted but quickly uninterested.

"What can you tell about me?" Carla eagerly asked, staring intently at him.

"There's two of you, why are there only two of you?"

"Two of me?"

"No, not two of you—two bridesmaids, there should be three."

"Oh, you mean Janine," Sue answered. "She's meeting us at the church. "She was held up with her nails. Have you not met her yet?"

"No," Sherlock murmured, paying more attention to the kitchen sink now than the two women in front of him. Something about it had evidently caught his eye. Without another word he moseyed over to get a better look at the contents.

The ladies shared a glance. "Guess it's true what they say about him."

"I thought he'd be taller."

Coming nearer to the sink, Sherlock saw two unwashed plates in it—one licked clean and the other with an only half-eaten breakfast still on it. By the plates there was a tea cup (John's favorite), and a glass that still held some seltzer residue on the bottom. There was only one possible explanation for this, but before Sherlock could turn to confirm it with the women, Mary reemerged.

"Ready?" she called to the others brightly. He decided it'd have to wait.

OOOOO

While the bridesmaids were sharing a bottle of wine in the vicar's office, snickering at each other's anecdotes from abroad, Mary and Sherlock remained in the bridal suite.

"People are starting to fill in now," Sherlock reported, monitoring the church through the slim opening of the door. "John's smiling like an idiot. Lestrade looks painfully out of place."

"You don't need to keep checking, Sherlock," Mary said humouredly from the vanity chair, as she switched her engagement ring to her right hand. "We've still got at least twenty minutes before the ceremony."

Sherlock looked back at her and quietly let the door shut. Walking over to her, he automatically took notice of Mary's position, skin, and clammy hands, and immediately recalled the kitchen sink. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she answered quickly. Sherlock knew she was smart enough to know he didn't believe her. "I just don't feel well. Wedding nerves, that's all."

There was his kitchen sink hypothesis confirmed. "What could possibly be nerve-wracking about a wedding? You're seeing all the same people you usually see, and standing with John as you usually do. You just happen to be dressed up."

"Sherlock, not now please…"

"I suppose you could trip, which would be cause for anxiety…but even then, who cares—"

"I said not now!" Mary snapped, taking Sherlock quite by surprise. She sighed and shook her head almost immediately. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to bite your head off."

He studied her another moment. "How many times have you thrown up this morning?"

She lifted her eyes up to him, surprised he would ask. "Twice. How did you—"

"You say you don't feel well, you've got a plastic bag tucked into the purse you brought from home, and you've brushed your teeth three times already."

"Lovely that you were counting," she replied, taking a sip of water. "It was just this morning, before John woke up."

Sherlock nodded and thought for a moment, glanced once toward the window overlooking the front lawn of the church, and then optimistically turned his attention back to Mary. "Well, as I am the best man allow me to offer up an exercise as a means of quelling the wedding nerves."

"Exercise?" Mary questioned, wondering inwardly how she could have wedding nerves at all. She didn't feel particularly nervous, but her body seemed to be betraying her anyway.

Sherlock folded his hands behind his back and moved toward the west-facing window, staring out. "Would you like a distraction?"

Mary raised a cautious eyebrow. "What did you have in mind? "

"Deductions. You might as well get to know your soon-to-be relatives; especially since your impending nuptials will likely require you to see them every…three years?"

"Two and a half, to be safe."

"Right," Sherlock affirmed, turning his attention to the still arriving wedding guests. "Care to join me?"

Mary thought about it for just a second before decidedly setting her glass of water down with a smile. "Yeah, alright."

The tuxedoed man showed a hint of a smile as well, making room for her at the window. Constructing his hands into a steeple under his chin, he scanned the moving crowd of still arriving wedding guests carefully. "Her," he pointed, "blue dress, white hat, passing by the fountain."

"Okay." Mary locked in on the middle-aged woman. "John's cousin, I think. What about her?"

"Recently divorced mother of two trying to get her oldest son and new boyfriend to bond; be friends and that. It's going horribly."

"Is that right?" Mary figured it was if Sherlock was saying it. "She's only got one boy with her, why'd you say mother of two?

"She's wearing a necklace with two birthstones on it. She wouldn't wear two stones unless she had two children. Most likely the other is too young to attend a wedding and stayed home with a sitter."

"Huh, fair enough" Mary affirmed with a nod. "Now what about the rest—the divorce, the boyfriend…"

"Recently divorced is child's play. There's a pale white circle on her left ring finger, so she's worn a wedding band for a long time and recently stopped. The man she's with, her new boyfriend, is also without a ring. Based on appearance alone, he's obviously not the boy's father, but this becomes more than apparent in the way he walks with the mother and son. He keeps her in between himself and the boy at all times. Parents always walk on the outside of their kids like bookends, especially at functions where they need them to behave. So, if he's not the dad, and not another relative, he must be the new boyfriend. How do we know bonding isn't going well? That's all in the ties."

"The ties?" Mary repeated, trying to follow along.

"The knot in the boys tie is completely different from the man's—the man's is neat, geometric, near perfect. The boy's is sloppy and juvenile, he probably did it himself. So, we can assume the two ties weren't done by the same person. Why would the man not tie the boy's tie for him, and why would the boy rather wear a messy, misshapen knot than ask for help? Obvious. The boy doesn't like his mother's new boyfriend and wouldn't let him."

"Wow," Mary remarked simply at the end of the monologue. "Where did we sit them?"

"Toward the back, you won't even notice the sulking, forced conversation, and inevitable breakdown from the mother."

"Ah, good," Mary responded with a touch of relief.

"Alright, where to next," Sherlock deliberated, clearly beginning to enjoy himself for the first time all day. "Ah, there. See the man with the beard getting out of the red sedan—"

"Yes, I believe that's John's other cousin…or maybe one of his military friends…"

"Irrelevant, don't bother trying to remember," Sherlock cut in. "He's having money problems, trying to quit smoking, and his carpal tunnel is acting up more than usual. Your inability to remember his relation to John is the least of his concerns today."

"Okay, carpal tunnels' easy enough…" Mary replied, watching the mystery man lock his vehicle. "He's got a wrist brace on; though I suppose that could be for an injury."

"Carpal Tunnel is more likely. He's got braces on both wrists, what sort of idiot injures two wrists at once? Besides his complexion, posture, and grooming indicate a desk job, not a lot of opportunity for freak work-related accidents."

"Alright, the smoking then? Is he wearing some impossible-to-see-unless-you're-Sherlock-Holmes patch or chewing his gum in a way only people trying to quit smoking chew gum?"

"No, but he did just consciously gravitate toward the two men smoking by the curb and inhale _very_ deeply…how many people do you know who move toward cigarette smoke rather than away from it?"

"Just one… " she quipped, sending him a knowing look. Sherlock returned a tiny smirk. "You said he was having money problems too?"

"Oh yes. His clothes, jewelry, and car are expensive, but clearly used, even a bit old-looking. So, he's had them for a while, yet there was a wrapped gift in the backseat of the family's car, did you notice?"

"No."

"When he opened the back passenger-side door to let his daughters out there was a square box wrapped in white and gold, that and the fact that we are at your wedding, suggests the present is for you and John, yes?"

"Yeah," she answered with a shrug.

"Did you do a gift registry?"

A look of realization then came across Mary's face. "No, we didn't."

"Exactly. No gift registry, and still this family shows up with a gift. It's probably some useless kitchen appliance or hideous vase—"

"You really don't know what people put in gift registries, do you?"

"In any case, why would they give a gift rather than a check? Simple, money's tight. If they were to write a check you would know the exact amount they feel is appropriate or within their means to give, plus social etiquette dictates the check be quite large considering the importance of the occasion. So, they instead try to get away with spending less money on something that likely has a more ambiguous price range."

Mary had to smile watching Sherlock search the crowd for more subjects to analyze. "Do you only ever look for people's dirty laundry?"

"It's the only thing worth looking for, academically speaking. People practically thrust their good qualities upon everyone they meet, so it wouldn't be much of an achievement to deduce those eccentricities; it's the things they unintentionally exhibit that are useful in assessment."

Mary could understand that, much more than she wanted to admit. "You know, I am starting to feel more at ease."

"Good." Sherlock was feeling quite pleased himself. "Would you like to do one more?"

"Sure." Now it was Mary's turn to choose. Her eyes hopped from one wedding guest to another and finally she settled on a young man and woman sitting on a bench just outside the church doors. "There, that couple," she pointed. "That's John's aunt's son, with his new girlfriend I'd guess."

Sherlock found the people Mary was referring to in no time. It took him another half-second to make his initial conclusion. "Nope, not a couple."

"No?"

"He needed to find a plus one, so he invited—though begged is probably the better word—his coworker to come with him. She's a workaholic, hates her new haircut, and finds her date repulsive."

"Seriously," Mary remarked. "All that in a matter of seconds?"

"She hasn't looked up from her phone since we started this conversation, her well-manicured fingers are typing furiously on the screen, she's concealing a small stack of business cards in her dress pocket, and she likely only agreed to come with him for some type of professional gain since she just visibly recoiled when he touched her arm."

"Poor bloke."

"There's also a tan line a few inches below where her hairline currently stops, so she's recently had a haircut. She hates it, obviously, because if she loved it she would probably be able to look past being stuck at a wedding with her less-than-Bond coworker."

"Well, lucky for her there's an open bar. That usually tends to cheer up even the most miserable attendees."

"Oh, she won't be the most miserable attendee, I can assure you."

"No, who then?" Mary asked curiously.

"Eugene Kapoor…the one who works at the clinic with you and John."

"Yes, why would he be wound up?"

"Because Mrs. Hudson spent the morning cooing his name in between confirming and reconfirming that he would be in attendance…and judging by the way his face just fell…yep, there she is shuffling toward him. You can practically see him pale."

Mary laughed and returned to the vanity on the other side of the room. "Thank you for the distraction, Sherlock. I do feel better."

"You're welcome." He looked to the clock on the wall. "I should go take my place. Is there anything else?"

"No, you've been very helpful" she said appreciatively. "But if you could, would you mind letting the bridesmaids know they'll be plenty of time for wine at the reception. They'll need to take their places too."

"Yes, I'll handle it." Sherlock turned on his heel and left the bridal suite, not wanting anything to go awry. After all, he had put a lot of work into this day. He wanted to see it run smoothly.

As the detective exited the room, Mary was able to catch the briefest glimpse of John through the door right before it fell shut. And she couldn't help herself. Picking up her dress (which she couldn't wait to get into a bustle) she went over to the door and opened it just wide enough so that she could see out without anyone else seeing in; and there he was. He looked radiant and ecstatic and like everything she had fallen in love with.

If anyone had told her five years ago that this is what her life would become, she would have been revolted and saddened by the grossly inept prediction. However, there she was about to marry the best man she had ever known as a woman she thought she could never be.

Mary had heard people say their wedding day was the happiest day of their lives. And it sounded like a lovely thing to say, but she never quite trusted it to be true. She was forced to reconsider that stance now as she stood their completely unable to recall a time she had ever felt so light and thrilled to be alive.

As the music started up, she couldn't help but break into a smile. She gathered her flowers from the vanity, did one final check in the mirror and took her place, more than ready to join her soon-to-be husband at the altar.

OOOOO

Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Do leave a comment and let me know what you think :)


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